


Venti Hazelnut, Two Shots of Espresso

by Meg13



Category: Tales of Arcadia (Cartoons)
Genre: F/M, Featuring, Worldbuilding, and barista!claire, and claire enjoys every second of it, another coffee shop AU, human!strickler, romcom!barbara, strickler and barbara are so awkward it hurts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-05
Updated: 2020-05-05
Packaged: 2020-10-10 19:06:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20533058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meg13/pseuds/Meg13
Summary: "Thirty-two days after she’d somehow managed to set her Mr. Coffee on fire, Barbara finally decides to chat with the gorgeous man who frequents the back booth of her favorite coffee shop."-- or, our favorite barista gives two regulars a nudge in the right direction





	1. Chapter 1

Thirty-two days after she’d somehow managed to set her Mr. Coffee on fire, Barbara finally decides to chat with the gorgeous man who frequents the back booth of her favorite coffee shop.

Not that it’s been easy drumming up the courage.

She’s tried so many times to capture his attention with shy smiles and surreptitious glances in his direction, or by standing close while waiting for refills at the counter. There had even been an attempt at a direct assault one morning, but she’d chickened out spectacularly the moment those emerald eyes had shifted from his laptop to her not-at-all-confident smile and she’d wound up berating herself in the bathroom instead of flirting shamelessly at his table.

But today would be different. Today she would… not see him.

Barbara’s face falls as she steps into the café, her gaze immediately drawn to the usually occupied corner booth. It’s empty now. No laptop or textbooks or highlighters, no broad shoulders to sigh over or perfectly coiffed hair to imagine threading her fingers through. No crush at all.

Well, damn. It’s probably for the best, anyway. Even if she did have time to date, she seriously doubts a guy like him, with an accent like that, would be interested in someone like her. _Better to skip the inevitable rejection altogether_, she thinks with a dejected twist of her lips as she sidles up to the register.

“Dr. Lake!” Claire’s greeting is bright and breezy, as usual - a little ray of sun shining through the gloomy winter mornings. “Venti hazelnut with two shots of espresso, right?”

“Please,” Barbara says with a faint smile, still impressed by how quickly Claire managed to memorize her order. Not that she should be surprised. The teen _is_ saving for theater camp, after all. And she supposes there’s the added incentive of being Jim’s mom. “And call me Barbara. You’ve been dating my son for months now, I think it’s okay to drop some of the formality.”

Claire’s cheeks take on a rosy, pleased hue at the mention of her boyfriend. “Yeah, that’s… Okay, Barbara. That’ll be $4.72.”

The bell on the door chimes as Barbara pulls her wallet out of her purse. She frowns down at the mess of receipts and business cards and loyalty tags, and nibbles at her lower lip as she attempts to locate that fiver she _knows_ is hidden somewhere within the chaos. “Crap…” She mumbles, thumbing clumsily through the pockets. “I’m so sorry, Claire. I just really need to clean this thing out.”

“It’s no problem, Doct– Er, Barbara,” Claire says with a chuckle, tilting her head to smile at an incoming patron. “Hey there, Mr. Strickler. Grande, black?”

“That would be wonderful, Miss Nuñez. Thank you.”

Barbara’s blue eyes go round, her search for cash coming to an abrupt halt as that rich, velvet-like voice – the one that has starred in a _number_ of recent fantasies – washes over her like a warm, luxurious bubble bath. Which is, actually, a pretty perfect analogy as a mysterious claw-foot bathtub happens to be her favorite location for said naughty daydreams to take place in. The thought of which makes her shiver and _Oh, god, he’s standing right behind me_, she realizes with a teeny, tiny squeak.

“You okay?”

“Huh? What?” She inhales sharply and looks up to find Claire staring at her with a concerned (or is it knowing?) expression on her face. “Yes. Oh, I…” Barbara’s fingertips miraculously curl around a hard plastic card and, without even checking to see which one she’s grabbed, presents it with a flourish. “Here.”

“Um, Barbara?” Claire wrinkles her nose and points hesitantly at the proffered form of payment. “That’s your insurance card.”

“Shit."

“Can I just…” Claire reaches forward and plucks a Visa out of the leather wallet. “Is this one okay?”

Barbara can only nod her approval, what with the abject mortification she’s currently experiencing having rendered her speechless, as she waits for Claire to process the transaction. The very second her card is returned, she tosses it haphazardly into her purse and whirls around to flee to the pick-up station… only to collide spectacularly with the object of her affection.

She yelps as her nose smashes against his collarbone and tries to dance away, but finds herself held in place by a strong, steadying arm around her waist. Sweet Jesus, what has she done to deserve this humiliation?

“Oh, excuse me!” The words vibrate from his chest to hers, and Barbara’s knees go weak. “Are you alright, Mrs…”

Her cheeks are burning as she tilts her chin to peek up at him from under disheveled auburn fringe. God, his eyes absolutely sparkle this close. “Miss.”

“Sorry?”

“It’s Miss, not Mrs. There’s no… Um, no Mr. I mean, there was. But we’re not married anymore. I’m not married.” It's as if she's physically unable to just shut up already.“I’m single.”

He quirks a brow. “I see.”

“She’s actually a doctor,” Claire supplies, watching the scene unfold with interest from her vantage point behind the register. “Dr. _Lake_. Jim’s mom.”

“Are you really?” The corners of his mouth tug upward into a fond smile, eyes crinkling around the edges. “I’m Walter. Walter Strickler. Jim’s history teacher.”

Barbara blinks. This is her son’s favorite teacher? The man he gushes about and idolizes? The man who single-handedly reignited his passion for history and tutors him in math during resource time? Great - now he’s even sexier.

“Um.” She swallows and raises the hand _not_ still pinned to her side for a single, awkward wave. “Barbara Lake. Nice to meet you.”

Those gorgeous green eyes suddenly widen, as if he’s just realizing how very close he’s holding her. Immediately, and much to Barbara’s disappointment, he drops his arms and takes two large steps away from her. “I’m so sorry!”

“For what?” Barbara asks, feeling rather brave now that he’s the one who seems flustered. She fiddles with her glasses. “You weren’t exactly holding me against my will, you know.”

Oh, shit. Did she really say that? Fuck. _Fuck_. What is she thinking?!

“I wasn’t?”

Does he seem hopeful? Or, is that just wishful thinking on her part? Maybe he's just surprised by how forward she's being? Ugh, she could kick herself for being so bad at these things. 

“Um, Dr. Lake?”

“Claire, yes.” Barbara turns, relieved to have an excuse to look away from the history teacher. "What is it, sweetie?"

“Your coffee?” The teen lifts up the paper cup, an almost sheepish look on her face. “It’s getting cold and, well, _historically_ speaking, you like it really hot.”

Did she just…

Barbara squints suspiciously at Claire, but the girl continues to look perfectly innocent as she passes over the beverage and– Wait. Why is she slipping a business card across the counter? And why did she just wink?

“I don’t need this anymore,” the teen murmurs, index finger pointedly tapping the card Barbara had given to her months ago when Jim had rolled an ankle at rehearsal. “Your number is saved in my phone. But maybe someone _else_ could use it?”

It’s more of a command than a hint, but Barbara takes it – and the card – anyway. _You can do this_, she thinks, gulping down her anxiety. _You can do this, you can do this, you can do this_.

Claire flashes a supportive smile and Barbara turns, the encouraging mantra on repeat in her mind.

“You can do –“ Fuck. “…me a favor and, um, call if you, ah, ever want to talk. About Jim! We can talk about Jim. Or, other things. If you want. I’m sure you like to talk about… things?”

_Smooth, Barb_, she thinks, mentally slapping herself. _Real friggin’ smooth._

But Walter Strickler doesn’t seem turned off by her spewing verbal diarrhea. In fact, he looks… amused? Which isn’t really the impression she’d been trying to give, but at least it’s positive. Right? “I’ll add it to my Rolodex.”

“You have a Rolodex?”

“I’m sorry,” he says again, cringing and practically snatching away the card before Barbara can retract the offer. “That was a poor attempt at humor. I would very much like to talk to you about Jim.” Her face begins to fall. “And other things! I would like to talk about... other things with you, too.”

Holy shit. It worked.

“Great!” Barbara says a little too loudly, a little too cheerfully. She gives her head a single, nervous shake and tucks a lock of errant hair behind her ear. “I mean, I look forward to it. To talking with you. About Jim. And other things.”

“Me, too.”

The flash of his pearly white teeth nearly render her immobile once more, but a well-timed grunt from Claire snaps her back into reality.

“Okay, well,” Barbara breathes, nibbling her lip and maintaining a shy gaze as she side-steps around him toward the door. “It was nice meeting you. And, um, I’ll talk to you soon?”

“Yes.” His grin grows as he turns in time to watch her edge away. “Definitely. I’m very – Oh, look out!”

She twirls just in time to dodge the swinging café door, hopping to the right of the doorway and a slightly stunned regular. Pointing at her cup, she shrugs and calls over her shoulder, "I'm good! It’s all good. Didn’t even spill my coffee! Okay. Bye now.”

And with that, Barbara ducks out of the café with a jig and a squeal – completely unaware of her smitten audience watching through the large bay window.

Mission accomplished.


	2. Chapter 2

Walter doesn’t call.

But it’s okay because the moon is full or the stars are aligned or _something_, and he winds up in Barbara’s ER later that night. There’s family drama, apparently – and a nasty bite on his hand that requires eight stitches. She takes her time patching him up and he pays for her venti hazelnut the next morning.

“About last night…” Walter smiles sheepishly as they slide into opposite sides of his favorite booth. “I didn’t mean to unload on you like that.”

“Oh. See, I _had_ to listen,” Barbara says, shrugging dramatically. “What would happen if I didn’t and you get a call from the survey team? I don’t want you telling them my bedside manner sucks because I blew you off.”

Walter opens his mouth, closes it, and clears his throat.

“Wow.” Barbara’s eyes go wide, her face bright red. Two seconds into the conversation and she leads with that? Could the earth just swallow her up already? “That did not come out right.”

“No?” The tips of his ears now match the color of her cheeks. “Just so you know, I think your bedside manner was top notch. As I’m sure it is in _every_ situation.”

“Yeah, well…” She flashes him a shy, coy smile and drops her gaze to her coffee cup. “Doctors take care of people, and I’m _really_ good at what I do.”

She looks up just in time to see his Adam’s apple jump. Good. They flirted extensively the night before, but neither had been brave enough for… _innuendo_. Especially not with his sister and her hulking on-again-off-again-currently-on-again-but-we’ll-see-how-long-it-lasts-this-time boyfriend brooding out in the waiting room. Now, however, she’s more than happy to make him blush.

“So,” Walter says after a moment. “Was I your last patient for the evening, or was there some hot date with a staple-gun injury later on?”

“Hmm, nope.” Barbara taps her chin thoughtfully. “Unless you consider paperwork hot?”

He doesn’t miss a beat. “Depends on the paperwork.”

“Oh?” Barbara arches an eyebrow. “Care to elaborate?”

“Back in the 90’s I was roped into teaching a university course called The Evolution of Eroticism Through The Twentieth Century,” he explains, and flashes her a knowing grimace. “There were some, uh… _graphic_ essays.”

“Ah, okay.” Barbara nods and takes a sip of her coffee before smirking over the rim. “So, what I’m hearing here is homework really turns you on.”

“Careful there, Doctor.” He waggles his finger at her, grinning. “I may have to lower that score on your survey.”

“Betcha get off on that, too.”

His eyes are positively _glittering_ as he lifts his cup to his lips. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

Yes, she would – she really, really would.

But there’s plenty of time for _all that_ later, once they’ve gotten to know each other a little better and have (hopefully) made some sort of meaningful connection. For now, Barbara just wants to know what makes him tick. “Seriously, though.” She folds her arms on the table and leans forward. “How did you end up here? In Arcadia?”

“Ahh…” He leans forward, too, to rest his chin on his knuckles. “Well, there’s not really much to it. My sister, Nomura – you met her last night.”

Barbara nods.

“She landed a job at the museum, oh… Four years ago?” Walter’s lips twist as he contemplates the timeframe. “No, five. Anyway. She moved here, and soon after my _then_ fiancée decided she liked the idea of sunny California more than dreary old London. Next thing I know, I’m a tenured professor applying for a position at a public high school in America. The rest, as they say, is – “

“History?”

“You stole my punchline.”

“And, oh, what a punchline it was,” Barbara teases. She glances at the fingers curled around his coffee cup. All naked – thank, god. “How long were you married?”

“We never actually got that far.” He doesn’t seem bitter as shakes his head and shrugs, but accepting. “We were coming up on nine years together when Morgan – the ex – got it in her head we needed to go away for a while… To rediscover ourselves, or some such nonsense. Anyway. A week before we were to leave, I twisted my knee cycling and was told to stay home.”

Barbara hisses sympathetically through her teeth. “She went without you?”

“Of course. The change fees would have been horrendous,” Walter deadpans, rolling his eyes. “Four days into the trip I get an email informing me she’d found her soulmate – a Cambodian mixed martial artist named Angor.”

“No!” Barbara sits up, eyes widening in shock as her hand goes to cover her slack jaw. “She broke up with you through _email_? After nine years?”

Walter nods, chuckling at the absolute absurdity of his own story. “It’s not all bad, though. I got to keep the flat and somehow retained custody of her vicious little schnauzer, Otto von Scaarbark.” He holds up his bandaged hand with a dry look. “And she’d gotten so controlling in the end – treated me more like a child than a partner. I think she was looking for someone to boss around, you know? It’s probably why she ran off with a man much younger and a lot less grey around the temple.”

“Meh.” She wrinkles her nose and waves off that last part. “Young guys are so overrated. Personally? I like the grey.”

“Good to know,” the teacher says, his smile going lopsided as they lapse into a relatively comfortable silence – happy to sit across from each other while enjoying their coffee for a few minutes. “What about you,” Walter finally asks, just as curious about Barbara’s background as she had been with his. “Did you grow up here?”

“I did,” Barbara answers with a wistful little grin. “My house is on the same street I grew up on, actually.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.” She clicks her tongue in thought. “My parents sold our house and moved further north when I left for college, but my brother Blinky – sorry, Brian – and his partner Art still call Arcadia their home base. They travel a lot for work.”

“What do they do?” Walter asks, genuinely interested.

“Geologists. They’re writing a book. _Supposedly_.” She snorts. “It’s been two years and I’ve yet to see evidence of a first draft.”

He smiles, but it fades as an uncomfortable question forms in his mind. “And your ex-husband? From what I gather, he’s… not really involved anymore?”

“Uh, no. No, he isn’t. He sends Jim a birthday card every few years, and that’s about the extent of it.” Barbara sighs, nose wrinkling at the mention of James and her compulsive urge to defend his abandonment. “But you have to understand, we were very young when we got married. Too young. And after Jim was born… He just wasn’t ready to be a dad.”

“Sounds rough.” His fingers flex toward her, but he thinks better of reaching out and wraps them around his cup instead. Damnit. “How old was Jim when he left?”

“Five.” She shrugs. “I honestly doubt I would have made it through my residency without Blinky and Art, but… here we are.”

“You’re very brave.”

“I think most people would call me stubborn,” Barbara corrects, cracking a smile once again. “And I’m okay with that. I _refuse_ to let all my hard work go to waste.”

Walter chuckles and lifts his coffee cup into the air. “I’ll cheers to that!”

They tap their cups together, careful not to slosh the liquid too much, and sit back – lips curling against their respective lids as they gaze steadily across the table at one another. This has been nice. _So nice_. Exactly the kind of nice she’d been hoping for. The kind of nice she could enjoy for the rest of her –

Shit.

“What time is it?”

Walter coughs, choking on his coffee as Barbara nearly spills her own checking her watch. It’s later than she expected. Much later. And her shift is set to start in fifteen minutes. Not that she would have a problem being late this once… Ugh, no. She’ll never hear the end of it if Dr. Del finds out she was late because of a man.

Better not risk it.

“I’m sorry,” she says, lower lip jutting out into a pout. “I’ve gotta get to work. I hope this doesn’t – “

“It’s fine,” Walter assures her, watching with admiration as she pulls her purse over her shoulder and stumbles out of the booth. “Barbara? Same time, same place tomorrow?”

She grins. “It’s a date.”


	3. Chapter 3

_ One Year Later _

It’s been raining all morning, but today is a very important day and Walter _refuses_ to let something as trivial as a monsoon ruin his plans. Which is why he’s sopping wet when he stumbles into the café five minutes after dropping Barbara off at the door. He lowers the soaked newspaper covering his head and shakes out his hair, and earns himself a chorus of amused giggles for his efforts.

“Oh, babe.” Barbara covers her mouth in an attempt to stop laughing. “You look like Otto after a bath.”

Walter scowls petulantly at the comparison between his current appearance and that of his miniature schnauzer, Otto – the dog that has taken to Barbara and Jim like a fish to water, but still nips the hand that feeds him every chance he gets. The little shit. “My dear, are you insinuating I look like a wet dog?”

“Nope.” She grins and reaches out to comb her fingers through his drenched locks. “I’m _telling_ you, you look like a wet dog.”

“But a handsome one.”

“The handsomest.”

He wraps an arm around her shoulder, ignoring her half-hearted attempt at swatting him away to plant a wet, sloppy kiss on her cheek. “Just like Otto’s.”

“Ew. That was so gross.” Barbara’s nose wrinkles, though her blue eyes are sparkling and the radiant smile on her face hasn’t faded one bit. “And your dog doesn’t slobber. I demand a do-over.”

“A do-over?” Walter leers suggestively. “Love, you could have just _asked _me to lick you if – “

“Um, hi?” Claire interrupts suddenly from behind the counter. “Did you guys forget I’m here, too?”

They did, actually. And both turn a rather brilliant shade of red as they turn to find her staring at them with an arched eyebrow. This isn’t the first time they’ve been caught canoodling by a teenager or two (there’s a _reason_ their house is no longer on the rotation for Jim’s study group) but it’s still somewhat humiliating. “I, uh. Ahh…” Walter stutters after a moment of awkward silence. “Sorry, Claire.”

“It’s cool, Mr. Strickler.” Claire grimaces. “I’ve seen… _much_ worse from you two.”

“Right.” Walter clears his throat and glances at Barbara, then nods to their favorite booth all the way back in the corner. “Will you save us a seat while I grab our drinks?”

“I don’t really think we’re going to have to fight for a table,” Barbara snorts, gesturing around to the suspiciously empty café. She takes a step toward the counter where Claire now has their piping hot beverages waiting for them. “And I can carry my own coffee.”

“No!”

Barbara blinks, bewildered by the alarm in Claire and Walter’s simultaneous shout.

“Er.” Walter takes a deep breath and forces himself to smile. “That is…. Please, allow me?”

She stares at him for a long, contemplative moment before deciding it’s not really worth the headache to question his odd behavior. It’s normal by now, anyway. “Ooo-kay. I’ll just go check my messages.”

Walter lets out a small, nervous chuckle and waits until Barbara is fully engrossed in her phone before approaching Claire at the register. “Well, that was close.”

The teen snorts in agreement.

“So, this…” He takes a deep breath, eyeing the paper cups sitting on the counter with something surprisingly akin to fear. “This is it then?”

“Yup.”

“Huh.” Walter rocks back on his heels. “Wonderful.”

“Mr. Strickler?” Claire prompts when he makes no attempt to take the drinks. She tilts her head, growing slightly concerned with his sudden pallor. “I can switch out the cup if you want.”

For a brief second, it looks like he might take her up on the offer. But then he gives a single, resolute nod and grabs the cups. “No. No, I can do this.”

“Yeah, you can.”

He spins on his heel, ready and steady… then pivots right back around. “Miss Nuñez?” The usually unruffled history teacher looks positively panicked. “Does my hair look _really_ terrible?”

“Mmmm… Yeah.” Claire clicks her tongue and shoots him a sympathetic grimace. “Yeah, it’s bad. Sorry.”

A whimper escapes from somewhere deep in his chest but Walter ignores the impulse to rush out to the car for a comb. He’s got something _slightly_ more important to do at the moment, after all. Even if he’d feel a lot more confident about doing it if his hair weren’t stuck to his forehead.

No, it doesn’t matter.

He squares his shoulders and marches across the café, chanting “you can do this, you can do this, you can do this” under his breath the whole way. And he _can_ do this… As long as the butterflies in his stomach settle down long enough for him actually _do_ it.

“Barbara, darling.”

She looks up from her phone with one of those bright, endearing smiles of hers – the kind that quite literally take his breath away – and, suddenly, his nerves have vanished entirely.

“Everything alright?” Barbara asks, locking the phone and pocketing it. “You two seemed a tad bit anxious back there.”

“Oh, no. Everything is… fine.” He places his cup down on the table. “Though, it appears Claire has spelled your name wrong. Here. Have a look.”

And with that, he thrusts the remaining coffee cup into Barbara’s hands.

“How on earth could she spell my… name… wrong?” She trails off, eyes growing wide as she recognizes the words ‘_MARRY ME_’ written in Walter’s loose, looping cursive. “Walt?”

“I know it’s not the most romantic proposal.” He smiles hopefully and sinks down on one knee, ignoring the high-pitched squeal coming from somewhere around the register. “But, then… This is where it all began, isn’t it?”

Barbara’s gaze jumps to him. “Are you serious?”

“I’m afraid so,” he says with an overly dramatic lilt as he flips open the small velvet box he’s had hidden in his jacket all morning. He takes a deep breath and swallows the growing lump in his throat. “Barbara Lake, will you –“

The bell above the door nearly jingles free of its ribbon as one James Lake Jr. barges into the café. “Did he do it?!”

“ – marry me?”

“Oops.”

Walter sighs and presses his lips together in a resigned, nearly patient sort of way. _Thus is life living with a teenager,_ he supposes – expect the unexpected, never let your guard down, remain calm under pressure, kick dirt over dying embers, etc. And, anyway, the interruption doesn’t seem to have fazed Barbara at all. Hell, he isn’t even sure she’s realized Jim crashed his proposal yet as he watches her expression gradually shift from disbelief to shock to unadulterated joy.

Which is a good sign and all, but he’s starting to feel like he might just implode if she doesn’t give him a definitive answer in the next six seconds or so.

“Yes!” Barbara finally manages to gasp. “Oh my god, yes!”

She dumps the coffee cup onto the table and vaults out of the booth, successfully knocking Walter back onto his butt as she tackles him to the floor. Not that he minds.

“Yes?” He laughs, grinning when her fingers curl under his ears and her lips find his. “You’re certain?”

There’s a cheerful hoot from Claire and an overly grossed-out “bleh” from Jim – and then the door jingles open once more just as Barbara pulls away from a rather steamy kiss.

“I am. Yes,” she breathes against his lips. “A thousand times, yes.”

“Good,” Walter says, fumbling behind her back to pluck the ring from the box. “It would be quite difficult to return this.”

Barbara lets out a deep, giddy breath and holds up her right hand. “What? No receipt?”

“No receipt. Because _we_,” he slips the emerald-cut solitaire onto her ring finger, “are nonrefundable.”

“I love you,” Barbara murmurs, “future husband.”

“And I love you, my future – “

“Ew, Wally. Stop being so cheesy,” a cork pops, “and come have a drink!”

Walter rubs his hand over his face, groaning. “Feel free to change your answer, love. I don’t know why anyone would willingly choose to be related to Nomura.”

“I’m awesome.” His sister scoffs. “That’s why.”

Barbara laughs and reaches up to grab her cup of coffee off the table, stopping just once to admire the diamond glittering on her finger. “She’s got a point. Now come on. I want some champagne.”

“It’s not yet nine o’clock.”

“Ever heard of a mimosa?” Her eyebrow arches as she takes a sip of her venti hazelnut. “And I can think of no better way to celebrate our engagement.”

“Oh, I can think of a _much_ better way. But I doubt our little audience would appreciate it.” He smirks then, and pulls her into another kiss that somehow manages to be more eager and enthusiastic than the last – a preview of the private celebration he’s planning for later in the day.

“Mmm…” Barbara hums when their lips finally part. “Sorry about the coffee breath.”

“That’s alright.” Walter chuckles and tucks an errant strand of fiery red hair behind her ear. “I happen to like your coffee breath.”

**Author's Note:**

> won't be updated regularly


End file.
